“There’s a sailing vessel just beyond the breakers, sir,” the quartermaster on watch reported from the after bridge. “She’s not carrying lights and seems to be heading for the entrance.” Both officers strained their eyes in an endeavor to make out more plainly a dim shape which the quartermaster’s trained eyes had discovered. Phil’s thoughts went back at once to the schooner seen from Alice’s Mission Hill, far out on the ocean. “Only a trading schooner,” Lieutenant Morrison pronounced as he focussed his night binoculars upon the ill-defined silhouette of a large schooner under full canvas. “By George, she’s coming through in yachtsman’s style. Not a sheet started, in a stiff breeze too, and not five hundred yards from the reef. “There! She shortens sail,” he exclaimed admiringly. “Her skipper knows the harbor, that’s certain, or he wouldn’t be taking such chances.” The sailing vessel was plainly seen to take in all her sails almost at the same time, and the next minute she was in the narrow channel between the barrier reefs upon which the sea was breaking heavily. “Can it be the ‘Talofa’?” Phil asked excitedly. “Captain ‘Bully’ Scott’s ship?” Lieutenant Morrison had sent word to the captain of the arrival of a strange sail, and now he waited her nearer approach to “hail” her. Twice the lieutenant’s hail of inquiry was ignored. The schooner was now abreast, her speed materially decreased, yet still traveling smartly through the water. “The ‘Talofa’ schooner from Fiji, Captain Scott in command.” The answer was bold and distinct. “By Jove! How did you guess it?” the lieutenant exclaimed. Then he answered the “Talofa’s” inquiry. Commander Tazewell had come up from below and stood at the side of the officer of the deck. “Let Mr. Perry board her,” he ordered quietly, and as the officer of the deck moved away to give the boatswain’s mate the order to call away the running boat, Commander Tazewell gave Phil some instructions as to his conduct to the captain of the merchant ship. “Scott disclaims American nationality,” he said. “I hear he now flies the Herzovinian flag. You must go on board under the impression that he is an American and therefore under the control of our consul while in the harbor. Ask him of what his cargo consists. I must leave the rest to your good judgment.” Commander Tazewell waited until he heard the rattle of anchor chain as the schooner anchored, then returned to his cabin, while Phil took command of the boat. “To the schooner,” he said, turning to the sailor in the coxswain’s box. “Is that you, O’Neil?” he exclaimed in some surprise. “Yes, sir. I happened to be handy, so Mr. Morrison told me to get in. The regular coxswain wasn’t on deck,” O’Neil replied. “I’ve been hearing of this fellow ‘Bully’ Scott ashore. All the natives say he’s bringing arms for the Kapuan firm, to be sold to Kataafa. These natives are like women; they can’t keep secrets; it ain’t in them.”